


Mementos

by Morgana



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how good a pet is, they can't be kept forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mementos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sueworld2003](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sueworld2003).



Things start to go wrong the moment the alarm clock goes off. You get up and set food out without thinking, then wince when you remember that you don't have to do that anymore. But you can't face disposing of it yet, so you leave it sitting out while you go to shower and dress, then head into work, telling yourself that you'll take care of it when you get home. Everyone walks carefully around you at work, speaking with quieter voices than usual, choosing their words carefully and avoiding any reference to your absence yesterday. They all know, though - everybody's aware of it when a pet gets put down.

You tell yourself for the thousandth time that it was for the best - he was hurting, his pain starting to affect more than just his tracking abilities. He hadn't been eating right for some time, and by rights you should have done it long ago, but you'd kept putting it off, hoping that you could find an answer that wouldn't involve putting him down. Yesterday he'd been unable to get up from his bed, and when you looked into his eyes and saw the pain there, you couldn't deny what had to be done any longer.

You'd done your duty, given him what he deserved, but fuck, it hurts! The ache reminds you of when Daddy put Shep down; it had hurt bad enough that you'd never had another pet until recently, and that one only because he was assigned to you. The Army needed good hunters and trackers to find those things that human senses couldn't sniff out, and your boy had been one of the best.

You think about how he moved when you were on the hunt, all predatory grace and dark menace, and you feel a sharp twinge in your chest. Your fingers itch to reach out and pat him, stroke his head the way you used to when the two of you would sit in the living room and watch TV, but he's not there anymore. It's going to take some time to get used to his absence, to the quiet that seems to press in on you without the faint sounds of him moving around next to your chair, settling into place or raising his head up to nudge into your hand to request a few minutes of attention.

Everyone always said you spoiled him, that he was a working animal instead of some pampered pet, but you couldn't help it. He was just so sweet-natured, so loving and affectionate, even if nobody but you ever realized it. That first year had been difficult, both of you learning to work together, but once he settled into the routine, you couldn't have asked for a better companion. You'd never had to send him back for more obedience training the way many of your co-workers had, never had to use a choke chain to bring him to heel, never needed more than your own voice and the touch of your hand to keep him under control. He'd killed more than once to protect you, and you'd shed your own blood for him in return.

“Hey.”

You look up and smile when you see Graham in the doorway. “Hey.”

He doesn't bother to ask if he can come in, just steps inside and closes the door behind him. Something seems... off, somehow, and it takes you a minute to realize what it is: he's alone. You can probably count on one hand the number of times you've seen Graham without his pet in the last five years, and it's strange to see him without his shadow. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why he left him behind, and you're touched at his thoughtfulness.

“So, how are you holding up?” He's the first to come right out and ask you that question, and probably the only one whose head you wouldn't bite off for it.

You know this is where you're supposed to put up a brave front, act like you're okay, and with anybody else, you would, but this is Graham, and you know he cares about his pet just like you did yours. So you don't bother lying to him, just sigh and say, “It's hard, man. I keep looking around for him, can't seem to get my head around that fact that he's really gone.”

He nods slowly, and for a few minutes, neither of you says anything. You wonder if he's contemplating his future, thinking about the day when eventually his boy will have to be put down as well, and while you know it isn't his fault, you almost hate both him and his precious pet - they've still got each other, and you're alone. You'll never look down and see adoring eyes turned up to you, never have him curl up around your feet, never pretend you don't feel him sneaking into the bed at night again. There are a million nevers that Graham will still have for years to come, and you resent that like hell.

“How's your, uh, how's your boy taking it?”

His face gets tight with a faint flash of pain. “Not so good. I had to sedate him last night.” He looks down at the envelope in his hands and sighs. “I guess I just didn't realize how strong that bond was, that he'd feel it like that, y'know?”

You knew - you'd researched it back when Graham was first given his pet and your own went berserk at the sight of him. There'd been no real way to know if it was grief or rage that spurred him on, since his vocal chords had already been treated by then, but you'd realized that, whichever it was, they meant something to each other. A little extra reading had turned up the reason for it, although you'd never reported it, and by the time Graham figured it out, he was too fond of his boy to do it. You'd both get in trouble for that - sires and childer aren't supposed to be in the same facility, but thankfully both your pets were smart enough to understand that they couldn't give themselves away, so you'd never gotten caught. You guess it doesn't really matter anymore, since it's not like they can be separated now, anyway.

Graham clears his throat and you snap out of your brief daze to see him holding the envelope out to you. “I, uh, found this the other day, and thought you might want it.”

You take it from him, holding it for a few seconds before you open it and reach inside. A large, glossy photo slides out, and you draw in a sharp breath. It's the two of you, back when he was first assigned to you and you still weren't sure you wanted a pet around, let alone one like him. You trace the bent head, bright despite the black and white photo, your eyes greedily lingering on the way he wraps one arm around your leg. He often did that in the early days when he was upset, sought out some extra contact, needing the reassurance of your presence before he adjusted to the collar and accepted the fact that you were a permanent fixture in his life. He'd calmed down a lot after he realized you weren't about to get rid of him, and the heavy chain in the picture had vanished soon afterwards.

It's the first picture you've ever seen of the two of you - neither one of you had really been that fond of the camera, and as you stare at it, the reality hits you square in the middle of the chest. He's really gone. Your boy's dust now, and there's no getting him back. The picture starts to blur and for a horrifying second, you think you might actually start crying in front of Graham. “Thanks,” you whisper hoarsely.

“You're welcome,” he replies with an awkward nod, and gets to his feet. “Well, I won't keep you from your work,” he offers, both of you aware of exactly how lame his excuse is. But you don't call him on it, not when you're too busy staring at the photo as though it might somehow bring your pet back to life.

Once he's gone, you lean back in your chair, reaching into your breast pocket for your new talisman. You know it's not really something you can show to anyone, not even Graham. There's no way to explain it - anyone who hasn't lost a pet won't understand, and those that have won't have to be told. They probably have their own mementos, tucked away where nobody can see.

You wonder what other people keep, what things they felt were too important to part with. Their pet's bed, his boots, her special mug? You've got all that stuff, (although you think you might give the bed to Graham for his pet, since the scent of his childe might calm him down a little), but that's all it is, is stuff. Nothing real about him in any of it, nothing special that was his and his alone, and he was too unusual not to have left something different behind.

And this certainly is different. You roll the pieces in your hand the same way an alcoholic might swirl his glass around, listening to the soft click of enamel. Looking down at them, you notice the stains on the roots, and you wonder if he understood why you'd had them removed. Had he been conscious for the procedure, or did they put him under first? You hadn't stayed, couldn't bear to watch, to see his beautiful face melt into nothingness or feel his fingers dissolve into dust in yours. So you'd taken the coward's way out - kissed his forehead one last time and walked out, leaving him behind, and then to prove you cared, you'd had his fangs removed and drilled to fit a necklace that you don't think you'll ever be able to wear. Sometimes you wonder which of you was really the monster.

Certainly not him, your sweet blue-eyed boy. You set the necklace down on your desk and stroke one fang lightly with your fingertip, then glance at the photo Graham brought you. “I miss you,” you murmur softly. “Don't think I'll ever be able to replace you, Spike. You really were a good boy.”

 


End file.
